Control
by HEYARULES
Summary: If someone had asked Santana a year ago if she could see herself being tied down, control over everything but one tiny safe word taken away from her, while her partner does crazy kinky potentially dangerous things all over the place, she would have called them a fuckin' lunatic and laughed in their face. But then Brittany came along.


If someone had asked Santana a year ago if she could see herself being tied down, control over everything but one tiny safe word taken away from her, while her partner does crazy kinky potentially dangerous things all over the place, she would have called them a fuckin' lunatic and laughed in their face. Everyone knows that Santana loves to dominate all the boys she's fucked.

That was Before Brittany, though. Or rather: that was before Brittany decided to give Santana a second chance, a couple of weeks into their summer vacation. Before Brittany had told Santana, halfway through their reunion sex, "Okay, but there have to be a few ground rules."

And pulled Santana's hair hard to move Santana's face away from her neck when she wouldn't stop kissing it.

And grabbed Santana's hands in hers when she wouldn't stop touching her, holding them tight enough that Santana couldn't pull them free.

And said, "Santana, if you don't stop that and listen to me, I'm going to have to tie you down."

And watched, intrigued, as Santana moaned and shifted hard and desperate against Brittany's leg.

In the end, Brittany couldn't lay down the ground rules until after she'd brought Santana off with hard, twisting pinches, because every method she used to try to get Santana's attention just made Santana more and more helplessly turned on.

And that's when Santana learned that, yeah, she could probably get really into the kinky stuff.

"Happy Valentine's Day, baby," Brittany says, handing Santana a box that's heavy for its relatively small size.

Santana kisses Brittany quickly on the lips before shaking the box next to her ear. "Did you make me a pet rock, babe?"

"Oh my God, that was three years ago," Brittany says, rolling her eyes at Santana. "Just open it, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am," Santana says, and she's smirking because they're at school and no one knows that usually when Santana says that, she's not actually joking around. She tugs the ribbons out of their bow and slits the wrapping paper with a nail, pulling it neatly off. Lifts the edge of the box lid to peek inside.

There's a glint of metal, barely touched by the light in the hall, curving against the edge of the box. Santana closes the lid, because if it's what she thinks it is, she probably shouldn't be opening it in the crowded hallway. "Is it a bracelet, Britt?"

"You know it isn't," Brittany says. Her voice is low, and she's grinning – a pure, guileless grin, which is so completely at odds with the fact that she bought Santana handcuffs and brought them to school to give to her that Santana can't handle it.

Heat pools low in Santana's stomach. She presses her thighs together, like maybe that will keep her from getting suddenly super wet at school (of course it won't). "My parents are in Jackson Hole for their Valentine's Day ski trip," she says, hoarsely.

"I know," Britt says. Her grin widens. "I got some other stuff, too, but I'm not going to give it to you here."

"God, I love you," Santana says. God. She wants Brittany so much right now, but they still have lunch and three afternoon classes before they're out for the day. "We should skip the rest of the day."

"I don't know," Brittany says, doubtfully. "That's – what's the word for that?"

"Truancy?"

"Yeah, that," she says. "I hear that people get… punished… for that kind of behavior."

Santana rolls her eyes, because it is literally the only way she can pretend like she's not even more turned on now. "Yeah, whatever. You suck."

"You love me," Brittany counters, quirking an eyebrow at Santana. She leans in for another kiss, then starts to walk away, calling behind her shoulder as she goes: "I'll see you in Debate last period. Think of me."

Fat chance that Santana would conceivably be able to not think about Brittany for the rest of the day.

Thankfully, she manages to calm down somewhat halfway through AP English Lit – not completely, though, not with that little box pressed obviously against her stomach through the pocket of her jacket – so her notes do make some vague sort of sense.

It's all shot to hell again by the time last period rolls around – Brittany keeps shooting her these smug, knowing looks, running a deliberate finger down the outside of Santana's leg when no one is looking, and Santana's skin burns at the touch, the sensation shooting through directly to her clit.

It's a wonder – and honestly, a testament to how much she's looking forward to tonight – that she makes it through to Glee club without excusing herself to go to the bathroom and get herself off, public space be damned.

In Glee, Brittany sings this song by a weird-ass Danish band with lyrics like, no sweeter moves / then when I can't move at all / when tied by you, and Santana can tell that most of the club thinks that Brittany doesn't really have any clue what she's singing, but.

But she's staring at Santana the entire time she's singing it, and it's like a promise, and God, Santana just loves her. So. Fucking. Much.

When they escape to Santana's house at the end of the day, Santana says, "God, Britt, please, let me –"

Santana would be embarrassed at the fucking whimper she lets out when Brittany interrupts with a little smug smile and says, "Yeah, why don't you just let me tell you what you're allowed to do instead of you asking me," but, well. It's Brittany.

Brittany, who right now is taking off her jacket, shirt, and belt, but leaving her jeans, tank top, and bra on.

(It's not like Santana didn't get anything for Brittany for Valentine's Day. She's pretty sure that the new Jesus-freak dude won't sing to Britt for her, which is totally lame, but. She also got her a little key pendant that opens a heart locket that Santana's wearing right now, and also a ring. Not the long-term commitment kind, mind – they're far too young for that, in Santana's opinion. Just the "I love you" kind, of the "I thought of you when I saw this" variety.

But still. It's pretty blingin' and Santana's excited to give it to Brittany later tonight. They're both in the little bottom drawer of her nightstand, wrapped and waiting to be given. There's just some stuff she's got to do first. Sex stuff.)

"Strip," Brittany tells Santana, her voice even, moderated. "I want literally every stitch of clothes that you're wearing right now off of your body and on your floor, and then I want you spread out on your bed. Now."

And there's another surge of arousal. Santana undresses quickly, unhooking her bra and the button on her jeans, fingers trembling as her shirt brushes against her already-hard nipples as she pulls it over her head. She stands still in front of Britt for a moment, naked save for her necklace, before lying on her bed as directed.

"Where are the cuffs?"

"Pocket of my jacket," Santana tells her, and watches as Britt takes them out of the box. They glint in the light as she carries them over, opening each cuff wide.

"Hands back," Brittany tells Santana, straddling her waist, the tough denim of Britt's jeans brushing against the skin of Santana's stomach, Britt's long blonde hair tickling Santana's chest as she leans forward and takes one of Santana's wrists and carefully slips a cuff over it, closing it gently yet decisively, and moving Santana's arm back up over her head so that she can move the chain of the cuffs behind a slat in Santana's headboard and attach the other end to Santana's other wrist. "I've got you where I want you now," she tells Santana, smirking her perfect fucking little Brittany smirk.

Santana presses her thighs together, biting her lip hard to keep from telling Brittany that she should take off her clothes, too. The ends of Britt's hair are brushing against Santana's nipples, now, with these tiny little prickles that fire Santana up so hard, but Britt tugs her hair back and twists it into a knot, pulling an elastic around it.

And that's when Santana knows that Britt is really getting down to business.

Brittany pushes back off of Santana, sliding off the bed, and reaches down to unbuckle her belt. She pulls it off slowly, then places it across Santana's stomach, fingers lingering against Santana's skin for a moment before she draws her shirt off and pushes off her jeans and panties in one smooth movement. She lets them puddle on the floor before sauntering back to Santana, breasts swaying slightly in the lacy cups of her bra.

Santana wants to touch, but most of all, she wants to be touched, in so very many ways.

Brittany bends down to kiss her, openmouthed, tongue pushing its way into Santana's mouth in quick little dips, reaching down to cup one of Santana's breasts as she does so. Santana arches slightly into Britt's touch, gasping when Brittany pinches her nipple hard, twisting her fingers in a deliciously painful way.

Breaking the kiss, Brittany climbs onto the bed next to Santana. "Are you ready?" she asks, quietly, starting to massage Santana's other breast with her fingertips.

"Fuck, yes, Brittany," Santana says. "I want you to – God, fucking take me."

"You remember the safe word?"

"Of course I do, Britt-Britt, and I promise I'll use it if you start doing something I don't like, which is nothing, by the way, and I've been turned on all day, so can we –"

"Shhhh," Brittany says, and she's rolling on top of Santana and burying her face in her neck. Santana tilts her head, as much as she's able, and Brittany bites the muscle between her neck and her shoulder hard, hard enough to bruise, as she runs a hand up and down Santana's side, fingernails first. Santana cries out, and Brittany pulls back briefly. "Shhhh," she says again, glancing around the room quickly before grabbing her belt from where it's still stretched across Santana's stomach. "Lift your head up," she says, wrapping the belt around Santana's head loosely. Santana knows what's coming, she knows it, so she opens her mouth as the thin leather strap drags across her lips and lets Brittany work it between her teeth. "Bite down," Britt says, tying the ends together behind Santana's head so she can't just spit it out. "And be quiet. Unless, you know – safe word. Blink twice if you understand."

The leather, though the belt is narrow, feels thick against Santana's tongue, the texture completely foreign to her. For a second she feels like she can't breathe, and almost panics, but then Brittany is licking around the leather and back down Santana's throat, where, experimentally, she bites right where she did before, and Santana feels hot again.

Brittany moves slowly down Santana's front, alternating hard bruising bites that feel almost like they could break skin, and that are followed with soothing licks, with sweet little nibbling kisses. She lingers on Santana's breasts for a long time, until Santana's nipples are so tender that even just the barest brush of Brittany's cheek against one as she buries her face in Santana's cleavage causes a thrust of sensation all the way down to Santana's toes. She moans, quietly, because she's not sure where that fits into Brittany's be-quiet rule. Apparently it's not a problem, though, because Brittany is moving down and tonguing Santana's belly button, nipping around the edge, fucking it slowly with her tongue. It feels funny – it feels perfect. Santana squirms under the ministrations, lifting her hips up in a not-so-subtle, though distinctly uncontrollable, suggestion.

Santana almost whines when Brittany pulls away, wickedly breathing cool air over the spit-damp area, and Santana squirms even more at the sudden cold breath replacing Britt's warm tongue. Brittany quirks an eyebrow at Santana, amused.

Then she gets up.

There must be some kind of desperate look in Santana's eyes, because Brittany chuckles. "Patience, Santana," she says, softly. "I'm just getting started with you."

She walks to Santana's bookshelf, rummages around for a moment. "I left my strap-on at home," she adds, speaking louder now that she's further away. "So I won't be fucking you with that tonight. But I thought –" she breaks off, and Santana hears the snap of a very private box she's hidden behind the photo album from her quinceañera, then Brittany's footsteps. "I thought that this little vibrator of yours would be okay to use instead."

Santana nods, imperceptibly, and Brittany rolls her eyes. "Not that you really, you know, get to pick what I do with you," she says. "I think – what was it that you said? Right. You want me to fucking take you. And that's my intention." And she clicks the button on the end of the vibrator – it's Santana's favorite waterproof bullet – once, for the low speed that drives Santana crazy but never, never gets her off by itself.

But instead of pushing it against her clit, like Santana expects, Brittany moves it up to Santana's mouth, trailing it along her lips, just shy of where the leather of her belt comes free of Santana's bite. And like – Santana feels like this should probably be really strange, but it's mostly just really fucking hot, the buzzing of the vibrator on her mouth, the way that, when Brittany does let it brush against the leather, the entire belt moves faintly against her teeth and her tongue. Her mouth, now, is becoming as tender as her nipples, which – god, feeling so much at once? It's fucking mind-blowing.

And Brittany's just getting started.

She finally moves the vibrator away from Santana's lips, trailing it down between her breasts and leaning in to kiss Santana, light and chaste, before smirking wickedly at her and clicking the bullet up one speed setting, and then resting the very tip of it on one of Santana's nipples.

Santana can't help a massive – though admittedly muffled – groan at that. Especially when Brittany finally, finally slips a leg between hers and moves it up until her knee is pressing against Santana's throbbing cunt.

Fuck, B, Santana wants to say, but her tongue hits leather again, so she just bites down harder on the belt and shifts down against Britt's knee as she can, what with her arms completely out of commission from the handcuffs. And that's another thing – god, it's so sexy, not having her full range of movement, but it's hard too. She wants to touch Brittany, wants to take off her bra and slip her hand between Britt's legs and twist her fingers in the way that Brittany loves, and…

But it's sexy, too, to have Brittany take her pleasure out on Santana this way. God, Brittany is so self-aware. It's a huge turn-on, honestly, and just thinking about it makes Santana try to shift against Britt's knee again.

And then the pressure subsides – Brittany has pulled her knee away, and the vibrator as well. "You're so wet for me, Santana," she says, touching a finger to her – probably damp, Santana assumes – knee and then licking it clean. She smiles beautifully. "Good."

And she clicks the vibrator around to its lowest setting again and wedges it so it's lying flat against Santana, the very tip of it barely brushing against the edge of her clit, the other end firmly nestled against her taint.

And she leaves it there, moving slowly up Santana's body, dragging her breasts – still cupped in her lacy bra; the texture is something else entirely to Santana's overstimulated skin – over Santana's stomach and chest, until they're she's lying flush on top of the other girl. "Are you ready to get started?" Britt asks, and, well. Fuck. Santana is half-certain she's going to be dead in the best possible way by the end of the night.

Santana closes her legs tight, squeezing against the bullet to try and get the most out of its gentle buzz, and – oh, there, yes, it's hitting her in just the right way, she's slowly but surely approaching orgasm, but she'll need something to push her over the edge.

She nods belatedly, in response to Britt's question, and Brittany grins. She pushes herself up so she's straddling Santana's stomach. "What do I want to do with you?" she asks, biting her lip, running a finger absently around and around one of Santana's nipples as she considers her options. Santana just stares up at her, trying to shift her hips up and get some kind of friction with the vibrator, and failing miserably when Britt shifts back just enough to prevent that. "Ah-ah-ah," Britt says, blinking at her. "That's not acceptable." She shrugs, slightly. "I guess I'll have to punish you."

Yes please, Santana thinks, and she's not even embarrassed by that kind of thought anymore, which is so freeing.

Brittany reaches over to where she put the key for the handcuffs and releases one of Santana's hands, putting the key carefully back on the bedside table. "I'm going to tie you back up soon," she says, seriously. "But first I need you to lie on your stomach for a bit."

Santana complies, pressing her thighs together even tighter to keep the vibrator from falling loose. When she's on her stomach, Brittany unties the belt. "Open your mouth," she says, gently tugging on the belt until it pulls free. Santana twists her head to the side so she can see what's happening, but Britt shakes her head at that, so Santana buries her face in her blankets.

It's surprising, and yet totally not, when Brittany spanks her with her folded-up belt.

The sensation is phenomenal: there's the immediate sharp burst of pain that smooths into a spread of heat. There's also a burst of pleasure: the impact and shock of it makes Santana jerk her hips into the bed, which causes the tip of the vibrator hit her clit fully. And then there's Britt's cool hand, smoothing over the angry skin, soothing the bite of the belt.

"God, Brittany," she gasps, because she can talk now, even though her words are totally muffled by the bed.

"You like that, don't you?" Brittany asks, and Santana can hear the smile in her voice. And then the belt comes down on her ass again, followed again by Britt's hand.

The third time the belt comes down, Santana shouts. She really does like it, but this is so much to feel, and fuck, now her ass is as tender as her nipples and her lips, and God, is Brittany going to make every single part of her this awake and sensitive? Because Santana is totally here for that.

Britt is smoothing her hand over Santana's ass again, and she puts the belt down over Santana's arm, so it's surprising when she spanks her with her bare hand just once, immediately nudging Santana back onto her back afterwards, with no soothing strokes to buffer the transition.

Santana is well aware that her pupils are blown, which she knows turns Brittany on like no other. Brittany kisses her hard, sucking Santana's tongue into her mouth and biting it lightly, completely owning Santana's mouth, and holy shit but Santana wishes she could do this every day, just be entirely at Britt's whim. They're both super into this. Living with parents who aren't traveling every day fucking sucks.

"Focus," Britt whispers, but it's stern, and Santana doesn't know how she knows that her thoughts wandered. Maybe because Brittany is secretly so perceptive. In any case – Brittany giving her orders is the hottest thing ever, especially when they're just one-word orders. She moans, shifting her legs against each other briefly to try to get back that press of the vibrator against her clit – for the first time ever, she feels almost like she could come from this low setting, if only she could get the right pressure.

"Stop," Brittany says, sternly, and then: "Put your hands back up."

Santana complies, and Britt clicks the free cuff around her free wrist.

"I love you so much, Britt," Santana blurts, because she is so lucky to have found someone to do this with her.

Brittany grins at her. "Prove it," she says, and then, slowly enough that Santana can see what's coming and say the safe word if she needs to (not that she would, especially not for this), she moves to straddle her face.

She hovers for a moment, because she knows that Santana loves her smell, and then, once Santana has taken a deep breath, lowers herself fully. Santana can't breathe, though somehow that makes her even more stimulated from the vibrator, so she doesn't completely mind. She licks up into Brittany's cunt, savoring the taste for a moment, and then licking all the way up her folds once more – Britt's so fucking wet. It's beautiful – before pressing her tongue against Britt's clit, flicking it rhythmically and firmly.

She's proud when Britt starts quaking from her ministrations, but she also still can't breathe, and God, she's so close to coming herself, it's crazy. Santana never thought she'd be into erotic asphyxiation, but she's feeling so lightheaded and so fucking close to coming that maybe she shouldn't knock it – if she thought she were sensitive before, well. She's never been this close to coming without actually coming before. And she's pushing her tongue against Britt's clit like there's no tomorrow, faster and faster and harder and harder, her awareness focused just on the weight of Britt's body and the taste of Britt's arousal and the texture of Britt's clit, and the gentle, consistent throb of the vibrator tucked inside her own folds.

And then suddenly she can breathe again, and her awareness expands again, and she's still super turned on but not scant inches from coming anymore.

Until she realizes that the reason she can breathe again is that Brittany is leaning forward, pushing her hand between Santana's legs, and clicking the vibrator up to a higher setting.

It's almost - almost a useless gesture, because Santana's so wet at this point that she just can't get good friction, but then Brittany says, "Make me come, Santana," and settles back on her face, and just, fuck.

She wants to wrap her hands around Britt's thighs, but she can't, obviously, so she just pushes her tongue inside Britt, thrusting it hard and then slipping it out to flick against Britt's clit in a staccato rhythm, matching the thrusts of her tongue with rolls of her hips, because even though that barely shifts the vibrator against her clit, it's enough. Her awareness is focusing down again, since, again, Britt is blocking her airflow, and she just really wants to make Britt come before she lets her have another breath.

She's seconds away from coming, herself, when Britt shudders and slumps against her tongue, then slowly lifting herself off and away. "Stop moving your hips," she says, sternly, but her voice is rich and sated and so fucking sexy that Santana can't help it:

"God, Britt, please let me come," she says, and yeah, it's fucking begging, but she is so not above that at this point (she's never been above that when it comes to Britt).

Britt's eyes darken, even though she's still coming down from her orgasm. "Say it again," she commands, and Santana moans.

"Fucking please let me come, Brittany," she says. "I'm so close, you have no idea, but I can't unless you help me, please."

"Tell me you love me," Brittany says, her hand hovering so close to Santana's crotch that she can feel the heat of it, though she can't feel Britt's actual hand at all.

"I love you, baby, I love you so much," Santana says – she's almost whining at this point. "Please, please—"

"Okay," Britt says, smirking, leaning down to claim Santana's mouth in another kiss, slipping her fingers down and pressing them down on Santana's clit in a way that catches it between Britt's fingers and the vibrator, and fuck. There's the friction she's been looking for, and it's fucking delicious. She pushes her hips up against Britt's fingers, seeking more and more and her vision is fucking whiting out. It's when Britt sucks Santana's lower lip into her mouth for a nibble that Santana comes, harder than she's ever fucking come before.

"Shit," she breathes, letting her legs fall open so the vibrator slips away from her clit, which is still fucking throbbing from everything, but nowhere near ready for another orgasm. "God, Britt, I fucking love you."

"I love you too," Brittany says, grinning, clicking the vibrator off and kissing Santana, now sweet and closemouthed. "Happy Valentine's Day."

"Happy Valentine's day, babe," Santana agrees. She tugs against the handcuffs – her arms are going to be so sore in the morning, but it is 100% worth it. "How about letting me out of these?"

"I don't know, maybe I'll keep you in them for a while," Britt says, smiling wickedly, but she's reaching for the key. "Keep you locked away for when I want you next."

"Don't talk like that, Britt-Britt," Santana says, grinning back. "If I come again anytime soon, I'll probably die or pass out or something."

"I'm so good," Brittany says, smugly, as she unlocks the handcuffs and helps Santana lower her arms down.

Santana promptly tackles her. "You are so good," she agrees, kissing Brittany's nose. "I love every bit of you. Here–" her lips– "here–" her stomach- "here-" her knees- "and even here-" her feet. She kisses Britt's feet again for good measure. "You are literally the best."

"And don't forget it," Brittany says, flopping back on the bed and tugging Santana down next to her.

When they wake up from their nap, Santana gives Britt the key and the ring, and Brittany produces a stuffed version of Lord Tubbington from the bottom of her backpack, "so you can practice on him so my Lord Tubbington doesn't hate you anymore."

They eventually shower together, go out to dinner at an Italian restaurant two towns over that's fancier than Breadstix but no less delicious, more because it's impossible to get dinner at Breadstix tonight than anything else, and stop by Sugar's party on the way home. It turns out that the God Squad does sing the song to Britt, and they kiss softly in front of everyone before they head on home, and Santana won't lie, she feels a trace of vindictive pleasure at the fact that, as they dance to the song, she can feel the effects of the sex she and Brittany had earlier every time she lifts her arms or her clothes brush against her nipples or her ass. Take that, new Jesus freak kid.

When it comes down to it, though, Santana's favorite nights are the nights that she gets to fall asleep holding Brittany, and this is no exception. Having slow sex right before they fall asleep – Santana's still too tender for anything else – is just sprinkles on top of the icing on top of the cake


End file.
